


A New Finisher

by tipplerdoeswords



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, it hurts, it's a real pain in the ass, you ever been rejected by a scientific journal?, you ever cleaned glassware?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 04:42:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18242606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tipplerdoeswords/pseuds/tipplerdoeswords
Summary: Caustic tries to be a thorough scientist. Too bad nobody wants to help him with his research.





	A New Finisher

**Author's Note:**

> as a pathetic scummy nerd I'm legally allowed to make jokes about how caustic is a pathetic scummy nerd.

Caustic stepped out of a cloud of gas. He stalked toward the downed legend who was crawling away from him. He was getting better at spotting Mirage's holograms, and a spray of bullets from his auto rifle had punched through the real Mirage's shield from where the trickster had been hiding in the shadows.

He kicked the pistol out of Mirage's hand and reached for the surprise he had in his bag. Mirage watched Caustic in apprehension, clutching the bleeding wound on his side.

Mirage jumped a little when a pencil and clipboard were tossed with a clatter in front of him. He squinted at the items like he was afraid they would start spewing toxic fumes.

Caustic cleared his throat. "I have decided to collect more in depth data by creating a feedback form where test subjects can rate their pain in various parts of the body from a 1 to 10 scale, while also providing important basic health data such as weight, height, allergies, history of illness etc. While this information may seem unimportant, it sheds light on the effects of Nox gas."

Mirage stared at Caustic blankly. He opened his mouth to speak.

Caustic pointed his rifle at Mirage.

"Just fill out the form." Caustic said.

"Okay, okay." said Mirage. He picked up the pencil and clipboard. "Don't really see what's in it for me."

"Who knows?” Caustic drawled. “Maybe if you stall for long enough your teammates will find you. I won't shoot until you finish."

"But then you're saying that if I fill out the form, you'll kill me." said Mirage, tapping his chin with the hand not pressed to the bullet wound in his side. "So really, I'm incentivized to always leave some crucial item unfilled."

Caustic shot Mirage in the knee.

"Now I don't have any hands free to write with." complained Mirage, a pained expression on his face. "Whew, I'm bleeding out fast. See ya later."

Caustic snatched the half completed survey from the ground before Mirage got blood on it. One day. One day the ingrates would learn an appreciation for science and he would have a proper data set. Nobody said progress was easy.

The next time Caustic managed to down Bloodhound, they were remarkably cooperative. Between fits of modulated coughing, they scribbled their answers on the clipboard. Caustic stood guard, traps ready for any enemy squads who walked in on them unawares.

Bloodhound handed back the clipboard from their crouched position on the ground. Caustic looked the survey over. Bloodhound had written in Icelandic. Honestly, he would take it at this point. While Caustic was putting away the clipboard, Bloodhound, who had self-revived, stabbed him in the thigh with their hunting knife. They ran away while Caustic was busy cursing and fumbling for his gun.

Sometimes Caustic used a handheld tablet to do the survey and other times he used paper. Both were weak against thermite grenades. If he didn't make it out of a game alive, he had a hard time getting his hands on the paper notes in his deathbox. On the other hand, his fellow legends had a habit of breaking his tablet. Wraith had shattered it with her kunai and tossed the remains in a portal when he handed it to her. It was a real shame. Tablets were expensive. That woman had something against his research.

Maybe he shouldn't blame them. The Apex PR team loved to play up his dark persona. It wasn't inaccurate, but it also wasn't the whole picture. He was the only legend who basically had two full-time jobs. He had to synthesize all his gas, which meant ordering chemicals, cleaning glassware, and dealing with hazardous waste leaks at three in the morning. Caustic built and debugged his gas traps to only be tripped by enemy squads. He had to prep them early in the morning before each game. Not to mention the unholy realm of data processing. He would have to pay a special visit to whoever designed the software he used.

Sometimes Caustic just wanted to order a bunch of tear gas online and be done with it. No one appreciated the hours of time he put into the lab. They wouldn't even fill out the goddam questionnaires without trolling him.

When team assignments were changed after the first stage of the season, Caustic was paired with Octane and Lifeline. He showed them the surveys and explained his reasoning during one of their squad practices. Octane had nodded along without too much jabbering. Lifeline, another legend who disapproved of his research, merely tilted her head in acknowledgement. Yet the first time Caustic threw down a gas trap, Octane had stopped rummaging around in a loot crate and rushed over to bother him.

"If your gas trap is an independent variable, aren't guns independent variables?" the Spaniard asked. "Is the ring an independent variable? Wait, if we can disarm your traps by shooting them, aren't they really dependent variables? If you gas someone but you also shoot them, doesn't that make it hard to attribute pain to the gas? Where's the test group for the shot and not gassed people? Where's the control group for people who haven’t been shot or gassed at all?"

Caustic banged his forehead against the wall until a firefight broke out around them and Octane was too busy getting shot to keep talking.

Lifeline filled out her survey without comment after getting caught in Caustic's ultimate during a fight by Skulltown. Caustic frowned as he watched her walk off calmly to loot their fallen enemies. He would have to throw the data out. Lifeline must have had an antidote on hand.

After a few weeks of collecting data, Caustic put together an abstract for a paper. He submitted it to a few journals only to be rejected on the basis of having murdered all of his previous coworkers. He shook his fist in the air as he read the pompous emails. Those Humbert Lab bastards had it coming. He had explicitly labeled his lunch in the company fridge, but someone still thought it’d be funny to take it. Instead of doing a thesis defense, he had to do a whole thesis battle royale to get any respect from the scientific community. Peer reviewed? He would show them peer reviewed. 

"Can you look over a draft of my paper?" Caustic asked Bangalore later that evening, handing her a new tablet. She looked at the title for a few seconds (“Toxicology of Nox Gas and Its use in Combat Situations”) then broke the tablet cleanly in half over her knee.


End file.
